


temptations of trouble on my tongue

by rainbowshoes



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental sugar baby, Coffee, Gift Giving, Hypothermia, Love Languages, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, SHIELD are dicks, Sappy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes
Summary: a collection of fills for the clint barton bingo that all LOOSELY tie togetherfeaturing (eventual) accidental sugar baby clintwill update tags as i continue to add chapters
Relationships: Clint Barton/Tony Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	1. water

**Author's Note:**

> ch 1 - "water" (O3)

They were all piled in the quinjet, on the way back to Tony's tower from another mission - small, this time, but too much for the local military to handle, and they'd gotten the request to come and help. So, they did. They swooped in to stop a small-time gang of teenagers and young adults, mutants or otherwise, who were essentially anti-Avengers. The opposite of what the Avengers wanted to do. Clint didn't remember what they'd called themselves. Something unoriginal and stupid-sounding, he thought. He wasn't sure what they'd been going for, not really. He didn't care to think much about it. 

He was still cold. He'd sat on a roof for three hours in icy water. He'd stripped as soon as he got to the quinjet. Even bundled in heated blankets, he still felt like a popsicle. Natasha was piloting for them. Steve had passed out along the row of bench seats. Thor was still on Asgard, Clint thought. Bruce was just gone. He didn't know where, and he didn't ask. He'd come back when he wanted to - like a stray cat. 

He blinked slowly, feeling like he was moving through syrup. A steaming mug of coffee appeared in front of his face between one blink and the next, attached to a tanned hand with smears of oil or grease or something along the fingers. For once, he had to tilt his head back to look up at Tony. It felt strange. If he’d been the more poetic kind, he probably could have come up with a metaphor or whatever. Instead, it just made him feel a little bit like a kid again, looking up at the trapeze artists on their platforms and swings with awe and wonder. (But the awe and wonder had faded.) 

"Well, come on Legolas. Take the damn coffee." He wiggled the cup just a little, and Clint reached up to take it between his hands. It warmed them from blocks of ice to something closer to numb but prickling and tingling. Tony sat on the floor across from him, his own mug in his hand, while he picked at wires protruding from the chest piece of his Iron Man suit. 

Clint sipped at the coffee, at first not tasting it - just feeling the heat slide down his throat and into his gut, warming him from the inside out, even if only by a fraction of a degree. After he'd swallowed, the taste registered. There was cream and sugar in his coffee. He  _ never  _ drank it with cream and sugar, even if that was his favorite way to have it. At the circus, cream and sugar were luxuries. At SHIELD, he just hadn't bothered most of the time; it had been more important to fuel up on caffeine than doctor it to taste good. At Tony's tower, he sometimes allowed himself to indulge. Rarely. It felt… dishonest, somehow. Like he was stealing. Like he didn’t deserve it.

"Taste okay?" Tony asked after Clint had taken a few more sips. "I mean, I know you drink it black as pitch like the rest of us when we're hard-up for our drug of choice, but I've seen you make it that way a few times, too." 

Clint could only nod. He didn't dare meet Tony's eyes. He felt the apologies on his tongue, pressing against the back of his teeth. He didn't deserve coffee prepared specially for him. He hadn't done anything worthwhile today. His participation in taking down the group of anti-Avengers had been negligible. It didn't count, not in the slightest. He'd only made more work for Natasha when she'd had to come up to the roof to help him get down the ladder because he was so frozen he couldn't move. 

Hypothermia was a bitch. He was lucky Tony had these nice heated blankets. 

Tony didn't bring up the coffee again, and Clint was grateful. He dozed for the remainder of the flight, aware in bits and pieces that someone took his hearing aids from his ears and made him drink an entire bottle of water at some point, but there was so face attached to the actions. 

When he woke, he realized it couldn't have been Natasha, who usually did those things for him, but he wasn't comfortable with the thought that it had been either Steve - unlikely, considering he was still sleeping because of a particularly strong knock-out gas - or Tony. Tony just… never seemed to Clint like the sort of person who did anything for anyone other than himself. Unless they were out  _ Avenging  _ things or Tony was in the suit.  _ Iron Man  _ was not the same as  _ Tony Stark _ and the contrast was, at times, jarring. 

Steve and Natasha were already off the 'jet, but Tony was there, gathering the chunks of his suit that had been destroyed and he'd recovered. A cart waited at the end of the loading ramp with the other parts. 

Clint stood slowly and painfully. His joints felt like they had sand in them. He frowned down at the blankets and his still-soaked uniform where he'd tossed it into a heap in the corner. It was now hung up on a peg to dry, but he could see the puddle of water beneath it. Trying to put it on to get down to his floor was unappealing at best. He stuffed his hearing aids back into his ears to buy himself at least a few more seconds.

"Just keep the blankets," Tony said, his voice rich and warm. Clint thought maybe he was still a little bit asleep. Tony didn't sound sarcastic or bitter or even manic. "There are plenty more where those came from. I'll have someone restock the 'jet and bring your uniform to you once it's been cleaned. Go to bed. Get warm. Snuggle up with Nat or something." There was a hint of a laugh in that last sentence. 

"Tasha don't cuddle," Clint mumbled. He tugged the blankets tighter around himself and forced himself to look at Tony. "Just let me get back to my room so I can get dressed. I'll bring these back and grab my uniform."

Tony put down the box of pieces he'd been gathering from the floor - where he'd been working earlier, Clint recalled dimly - and he stood, then turned toward Clint. He closed the distance between them and helped Clint anchor the blankets tightly over his body. Tony fiddled with the dial at the corner of one of them and the waves of heat radiating from the blankets began to grow warmer immediately. 

"Keep them," Tony said firmly, looking directly into Clint's eyes, even if he had to look up a significant amount to do so. It made him no less  _ small _ . Clint couldn't fathom Tony as a small person, anyway. He was always larger-than-life and filled every room he entered with his mere presence. "I have more blankets, and you seem to like them, anyway. If you try to bring them back, I'll just show up at your door with even more of them." For a threat, it really wasn't all that impressive. 

But it worked on Clint, who didn't understand the concept of excess or easy access. He gave Tony a stiff nod and headed down the ramp. 

He'd just have to find some other way to return the favor regarding the blankets. 


	2. attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> attention - O2

Clint wasn’t accustomed to anyone paying much attention to him. He was the least impressive member of the team by his own standards and probably several others’, too. He lived in the tower with the other Avengers because Fury had implied he would make Clint’s life even more difficult if he didn’t, but also because the tower was far nicer than his digs at SHIELD (which were supposed to be temporary, but it had been the only version of a home he’d had in such a long time by the time he joined that he couldn’t bring himself to find anywhere else to live). 

Even living in the tower, though, no one much bothered with him. Bruce, the few times he came for one of his short little visits before he decided the Hulk couldn’t handle civilization, usually kept to himself and his teas and his research - or Tony’s workshop. Tony was always too busy with SI or Pepper or his workshop. Steve had PR things to deal with a lot, and Clint remembered him saying to Natasha the other day that he didn’t much mind traveling constantly because at least he wasn’t performing like a USO dancer anymore. Natasha came to sit with him on occasion, but she was busy doing her own thing most of the time. She and Clint were still SHIELD attachments, after all. 

He was a little bitter about Fury not calling him in for any extra jobs lately. SHIELD paid his fucking salary, and he felt like he was sitting on his ass collecting his meager paycheck with no effort on his part. It wasn’t  _ right _ . He couldn’t stand being idle for such long periods of time, so he’d looked about for something to do. He’d found an animal shelter not too far - close enough to walk, at least - and he’d started volunteering. 

The first day he'd appeared, zombie-like, in the kitchen before noon, it had been 7am and he was supposed to be at the shelter at 8. Tony had been the only other person in the kitchen, but he hadn't said anything, had just fixed a cup of coffee in a travel mug and pressed it into Clint's hand before clapping him on the shoulder and leaving for whatever it was he had planned. 

Clint had gone and come back in a much better mood than when he'd left. He felt like he was a contributing member of society, and it eased some of the stress and anxiety. He went back the next day, and the next, and the next. 

Until the next Avengers mission. Until nightmares came back. 

He woke choking on screams, unable to get the sounds out of his throat, despite decades passing since his father had beaten him so badly for crying that he'd lost his hearing. Nights like tonight, it was easier to leave out his aids and exist in the silence. At least without the aids he could trick himself into believing that he couldn't hear his hallucinations. 

He stumbled out of his room, clutching a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't want to be in his silent, cavernous bedroom. He flinched at every shadow, was half-convinced there were people hiding in every corner. 

"J, who else is in the tower?" Clint asked, sagging against the elevator well with his head pressed to the cool metal. 

A screen appeared on the wall before him, and he smiled just a little. Tony had really worked hard to make the whole place accessible in a variety of ways. It was nice. Every door had a soft, quiet tone that sounded when it was opened or closed. The signs all over the building were in English and Spanish with braille printed underneath. And there was also JARVIS. 

_ Mister Stark is the only Avenger currently in residence. He is on his personal floor with Miss Potts. He requests your presence for movie night.  _

Clint felt guilty for intruding on Tony and Pepper, but he couldn't go back to his room and be alone right now. Tasha was too busy on an extended SHIELD assignment with Steve, which sucked, but he understood. 

She'd finally told him it was his poor psych eval after the whole Loki thing that kept him off the mission roster. He wouldn't get to go on SHIELD-sanctioned missions until he agreed to see a therapist and made marked improvement. Like hell that was happening. He’d hated all seven of the SHIELD-approved therapists he'd been assigned. He wasn't doing that shit again. 

So he slumped against the elevator wall until the doors in front of him opened on a dim yet inviting living area, with Tony on one end of the large, sort of circular couch and Pepper on the complete opposite end. Clint blinked at them, confused, but then shrugged and headed over to flop somewhere between them. The opening to the first  _ Star Trek  _ movie - the originals - began to play, and Clint smiled a little when he saw the subtitles at the bottom of the screen. 

About ten minutes into the movie, Clint had relaxed significantly. He could feel the vibrations of sound from the movie through the couch. He couldn't hear anything, but somehow that was soothing. Over the next ten minutes, he was hardly aware of himself sliding over to the side inch by inch. 

He was nearly asleep when Tony nudged him down flat on his side with his thigh under Clint's cheek. His fingers combed through Clint's hair, gentle and soft the way Tasha usually did for him, and he avoided Clint's ears - which was thoughtful and considerate. He was asleep barely a minute later. 

When he woke, the room was still dimly lit, though maybe more dim than it had been. The TV was still on, but it was one of the nature documentaries that had the really soothing music and narrator. He didn't remember what it was called, but he'd liked it. The subtitles were on again, and something hot and tight squeezed in his chest. Why had Tony bothered with them if Clint was asleep? He didn't want to ask, though. 

He tried to turn his head to look up at Tony, but then he realized Tony's fingers were still curled in his hair. He reached up and gently untangled them, then sat up slowly and stiffly. His ribs were still healing, after all, and the last mission they'd headed out on hadn't helped matters in the slightest. Beside him, Tony flinched hard and his eyes snapped open just as he sucked in a gasping breath. Clint squeezed his hand to get his attention, and that seemed to distract Tony from his fear. 

Clint knew all about nightmares. He wasn't really surprised to find out Tony suffered as much as he did. 

Tony offered Clint a shaky smile, then he did something that floored Clint: he signed  _ coffee? _ Clint nodded, feeling stupid and slow. Tony stood and walked around the back of the couch, but he squeezed Clint's shoulder as he went by and his fingers trailed across his neck to the other before he was gone completely into the kitchen on the other side of the big room. 

What the fuck?

A floating screen appeared on the black, holographic coffee table interface.  _ Mister Stark would like to know if you want a pair of hearing aids brought to you. He apologizes for not knowing enough ASL yet to carry on a conversation.  _

Clint nodded. But - wait, what? He turned to look in the kitchen. Tony's mouth was moving. Maybe he was talking to JARVIS. Tony glanced up at him and held up one finger to indicate he needed a minute. Clint couldn't respond. He didn't know what to say. 

What the fuck was going on?

No one was ever this thoughtful. No one ever paid so much attention to him. No one ever cared that he preferred subtitles even with his aids in. That he appreciated coffee the most in the middle of the night after a nightmare. That he longed for physical contact that wasn't painful but didn't know how to ask for it. That he was  _ human _ . 

He and Tony were the only two actual humans with no enhancements or serums or giant crazy green rage monster counterparts. Tony still had his suit, though. Clint had nothing but a bow and some fancy arrows. He was the only one on the team who was consistently injured in their fights. He never came out of them unscathed. Sure, sometimes it was because he made some stupid mistake and got himself hurt, but usually, it was because he was fucking human and had nothing to protect him. No shield, no armor, no enhancements. 

Of course, Clint had to admit as Tony returned to the couch with a tray loaded with stuff, that Tony often got hurt, too. He was knocked around inside his suit a bit, even with as tight of a fit as it was. He had a fading black eye at the moment from where the mutant they'd been trying to contain had thrown him through a few buildings face first. 

Tony gave Clint a small, purple case first. Clint frowned down at it, not understanding at first. But inside was a set of bright purple hearing aids. He cracked a smile that widened as he flicked them on with his nails and fitted them into his ears. They were perfect, as he'd expected. He was surprised to find the TV volume down so low he could barely hear it even with his aids. Next, Tony shoved a mug of coffee in his hand. It had already been doctored with milk and sugar, judging by the color alone. It was perfect, and Clint figured he probably shouldn't be surprised. Tony had also brought ice packs, though, and he pressed one against Clint's ribs for him until Clint took the hint and held onto it himself with his free hand. 

"Where's Pepper?" Clint asked quietly. 

"She went to bed," Tony said with a shrug. "She only stayed the night because she had too much work to do anyway. Plus it's easier to get to the airport from here than from her place." He relaxed against the back of the couch, but he was at an angle so he was still facing Clint. 

"Oh," Clint said, frowning slightly. "I thought you guys were, uh - together or something." 

Tony shrugged. "We were, for a while.” 

Clint knew it wasn't his place to say anything about Tony's and Pepper's relationship, so he kept his mouth shut. Tony was saving people as Iron Man, as an Avenger. That was a good thing. If Pepper didn't agree, maybe it was better they split. But then Clint felt horribly guilty and selfish. Iron Man was an Avenger - but that didn't mean he had to stay one forever. He couldn’t figure out why he felt selfish, though, and he tried to avoid that thought.

He sipped his coffee in silence instead and wondered why he was still there. 

When he finished his coffee, he thanked Tony and left him there on the couch before venturing back down to his own dark, silent room. He had JARVIS play the same program Tony had been watching across his blacked out windows and allowed the British voice over to lull him back to sleep while he curdled with one of the heated blankets he'd never returned. 


	3. coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coffee (I1)

"Where do you go every day?" 

A mug of coffee appeared in front of Clint where he was slumped over at the island. He snatched it up and drained it, not even scalding the inside of his mouth this time. The mug had gone cool - barely above room temperature - and had only been half full. He blinked at the bottom of the mug, then looked up at Tony, who had a small, wry smile on his face. Had he just finished Tony's coffee? He frowned a little. 

"You don't know?" he asked instead, not quite willing to ask about the coffee thing. He didn't want to bring attention to Tony giving him coffee every morning for fear Tony would realize what he was doing and stop. He tilted his head to the side, staring at Tony. "I figured you knew already. Had JARVIS tell you or whatever." 

Tony gives him a small smile. "JARVIS might know, but I don't have access to that information. He never shares personal information unless someone's actively dying or in mortal danger and I can do something to help." 

"Oh," Clint said softly. He opened his mouth to ask how Tony knew to meet him every morning in the kitchen to give him coffee, how he'd known Clint wasn't wearing his aids the other night, how Tony had known Clint needed a new pair in the first place. Then he closed his mouth. He didn't want Tony to stop doing those things, so he figured he should definitely not mention them. He certainly couldn't repay Tony. Then he remembered Tony had asked him a question. "I uh, I volunteer at an animal shelter most days."

"That sounds like fun," Tony said with a much warmer smile. "Wish I could chill out with a bunch of dogs and cats for a while." 

"I, uh, I usually bathe them and take them all for walks, clean out the kennels, help the nurses hold them for their vaccinations and stuff. It's, uh, it feels nice to have a job to do, ya know? I hate sitting around all the time." 

"Huh," Tony said thoughtfully. "I figured Fury would have sent you out with SHIELD shit." 

Clint gave him a bitter smile. "Not since Loki." He shrugged and pushed off the counter. He held one arm up around his ribs as he walked to the fridge to peer inside. He didn't want to talk about it. He refused to talk about it even with Tasha.

"Yikes," Tony muttered. 

Clint glanced at him and found Tony rubbing the side of his face like he was embarrassed. He didn't know what  _ Tony _ had to be embarrassed about. He was in a three piece suit that was pressed and probably cost more than Clint's annual salary. Clint, on the other hand, was wearing too-loose purple sweat pants and no shirt. He had most of his torso wrapped in bandages instead from two nights ago when he'd been kicked off the side of a roof and had fallen into a dumpster. He couldn't even shoot for the next few weeks until his shoulder healed. (He was supposed to have that arm in a sling and strapped to his chest, but he’d shoved the sling under his bed and refused to use it.)

He was as useless as he ever got, but he was still going to scrape himself together enough to head down to the shelter, even if all he did today was sit with the dogs. Tony, at least, seemed to sense that Clint idn't want to talk anymore, and Clint watched from behind the fridge door as Tony made up Clint's usual to-go coffee, then left it behind on the counter without another word. 

Clint had never seen Tony give anyone else coffee, but it couldn't be that big a deal. It was just coffee, right? 

Later that evening, when Clint felt a little less sorry for himself after hanging out with a bunch of dogs all day, he found boxes in the hall on his floor that lead from the elevator to his bedroom. 

"Uh… JARVIS?" Clint asked, slowing to a stop and looking over at them. They were all from different places, but Clint recognized some of the names as brands of dog food or pet toys. "What the hell?" He walked over to the closest box, stacked atop two others and resting at chest height, and he ripped into it. Inside was a plethora of chew toys in various shapes, sizes, and durability. 

"Mr. Stark apologizes for being unable to present this at the shelter himself," JARVIS began, and Clint's breath caught in his throat. "He believed his donation would be better accepted if presented through you, though he wishes to remain anonymous. He hopes it is an acceptable apology for this morning." 

Clint gaped up at the ceiling for a moment, then around at all the boxes. Finally, he shut his mouth with a clack and swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, it's uh, acceptable." He then realized several of the boxes are far too big for him to move on his own. "Can we get someone to help me move all this to the shelter tomorrow?"

"There is a delivery crew scheduled for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. They will move everything, unless there is something you would like to take yourself."

"Nope," Clint said, still feeling too surprised and too… raw for any other consideration. He figured if he went digging through the boxes now, he'd either want to take it all to the shelter right then or he'd break down in tears. 

He fucking  _ hated _ painkillers sometimes. (But he’d needed them an hour ago, when Buster the boxer-great dane mix had jumped up on him and jarred his bad shoulder.)

"JARVIS…" he began slowly, walking around all the boxes to get to what was, essentially, an apartment within his space. "What do I do to say thanks for something like this? To someone like  _ Tony _ ." He felt like he was drowning, just a little, as he walked into his living space and flopped himself on the really nice couch he'd covered with a ratty purple blanket he'd picked up years and years ago and managed to hold on to throughout his tenure with SHIELD. 

"Physical touch, quality time, and acts of service tend to be well-received," JARVIS said, an almost thoughtful tone to his voice. Clint had never interacted with a better AI, not even at SHIELD. JARVIS was more person than computer. "Although I may caution you regarding those. Physical touch without suitable warning is often rejected, and Mr. Stark often believes acts of service need to be reciprocated even if it is a gift itself. Words of affirmation tend to have an opposite effect. Gifting hand-crafted items or foods is typically well-received, also, but tends to come with the reciprocation trap."

Clint blinked, trying to absorb all of that. He had to use context clues to figure out what 'acts of service' and 'words of affirmation' meant, but he figured it out relatively quickly. 

He should hang out with Tony and maybe bring him some food and then say thanks. But the hanging out part was key. Tony couldn't give that back or try to give even more to Clint. He was busy too often, and quality time didn't cost money.

Clint smiled a little. He could probably do that. They could play Mario or something. Maybe watch a terrible D-list horror movie. Clint was good at doing what amounted to "nothing" by most people's standards, so he could do "nothing" with Tony. 

"Thanks, JARVIS," Clint said. "Dunno what I'd do without you." 

"You are quite welcome, Agent Barton." 

Later, Clint found a recipe for coffee-flavored cupcakes and ruined his entire kitchen making them, but it was worth it when they came out pretty good, if a bit ugly. He was determined to bring Tony some coffee, for once. The cupcakes were a bonus. JARVIS thought it was a great idea. 


	4. Upside down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton Bingo fill  
> Square G2 - Upside down

Clint hung, suspended upside down, from the side of the building he'd chosen as his perch. He'd managed a fatal shot to the alien spaceship thing and had blown it up. But he wasn't proud of himself. Aliens of any sort made him queasy just to talk about. Seeing and fighting them? Again? 

These might not have been Chitauri - and they certainly weren't as difficult to kill - but he knew he'd have nightmares tinged in bright blue. 

The problem with the position he'd put himself in so he could take out the ship - and avoid an alien sword in the back - was that he'd tangled himself in the thin, steel cable attached to his grappling arrow. He could, probably, get himself out of the mess he'd made. He just really didn't have the energy for it. 

He wasn't supposed to be in the field yet. He knew that. His SHIELD-appointed doctor knew that. 

No one else knew, though. They'd known he'd been hurt, they'd known he'd needed some time to recover. But he hadn't relayed to them how long he was supposed to duck out of Avenging, and by the time this mission had come along, he was wholly unwilling to sit it out. 

If he'd known ahead of time that it was aliens, he might have stayed behind. 

It was too late for that now, though. 

His shoulder and ribs throbbed painfully, and he didn't have it in him to perform the necessary curls and twists to right himself and get back up on the roof ledge. He let himself dangle, the steel cable digging into his right leg and getting steadily more painful. It would go numb soon, and then he’d really have to start worrying about muscle and nerve damage. He couldn’t really count on anyone noticing him sooner rather than later. He’d have to work up the nerve to free himself, and while it would hurt like hell, it would be worth it. 

Another minute passed, and he was just beginning to gear himself up for trying to twist free when the familiar whine of Tony’s repulsors came close. He offered up what he hoped was a friendly, not-desperate smile. Tony didn’t say a word behind his mask, just hovered there for a beat before flying close enough to grab him around his chest and turn him right-side up. He didn’t just put Clint on the roof ledge like Clint expected, though, he reached around Clint’s side and yanked the cable free from whatever it had been anchored to on the roof and drifted down to the ground in a controlled descent. Clint’s gut squirmed with guilt. 

“Uh. Thanks,” Clint murmured as Tony set him on the hood of a car rather than leave him to stand on his own. Clint knew he’d have fallen if Tony tried to put him on his own two feet, so it was probably a good thing he’d been put on a car, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “I was just about to climb back up there.”

Tony’s helmet retracted in a flash, and Clint’s breath stopped in his lungs. Tony was taller than he was again, but all he could focus on were Tony’s eyes, wrinkled in concern. His left hand curled into a fist - his right was far too numb to manage. Why was Tony worried about him?

“Why didn’t you call on the comms?” Tony demanded. He didn’t sound angry, though, and that was the part that stumped Clint. Surely Tony should be irritated that Clint had caused a problem for him. 

“I had it handled,” Clint said, confused as all hell. 

Tony brought one hand up as if to pinch the bridge of his nose, but he seemed to realize last minute that he still had his gauntlet on. He huffed and lowered his hand once more, then stared at Clint again. After a moment of thought, and without saying anything, Tony did whatever it was he did that made his suit unfold around him. Clint’s eyes went wide when he took in the sight of Tony in his flight-suit. He'd known it existed - in theory - but he'd never actually seen Tony in it. It was… very tight. And distracting. He fought to keep his eyes north of the arc reactor.

“EMS is wrapped up with civilians,” Tony said, stepping closer. “Let me see your leg. Shoulder, too. I’m pretty sure your ribs are still busted up, by the way, so don’t think you can fool me there, but I’ll deal with that when we get back to the tower.” Before Clint had much of a chance to react, Tony was easing Clint’s boot off and digging his fingers into his calf, his eyebrows gathered over his nose in concentration as he tried to judge muscle damage from the steel cable. Clint flinched and tried to jerk away because it fucking hurt, but Tony didn't keep it up for long. 

"Can't this wait until we get back to the tower?" Clint murmured, embarrassed and a little bit annoyed. He wasn't some little kid who couldn't take care of himself. 

"It could, if I didn't think you'd run off and hide the moment we get back." Tony glanced up at him as he retrieved Clint's boot from the ground. "Here." He handed it over and Clint grabbed it with his left hand. He realized then that Tony was making a point. He couldn't get his boot on because of the throbbing, burning pain in his shoulder. His fingers dug into the material and he stared at it bitterly. Tony took it back, gently prying it from Clint's fingers, and knelt to get it back on Clint's foot. "I get that you can take care of yourself, but it would make me feel a lot better if I knew you weren't seriously injured." He stopped once he finished with Clint's boot and stood to face him, one hand resting on Clint's knee. "For my own piece of mind, okay? Let me take a look at your shoulder and then we'll head back to the tower and let Stevarino handle the press." 

Clint nodded, mute. He didn't understand why Tony cared so much. He wanted to claim Tony had never been that way before, but it just wasn't true. All the way back to when they'd first teamed up and fought the Chitauri and Clint was still half out of his head and wouldn't let anyone get close to him unless Nat was there - Tony had taken a long minute to ask Clint how he was doing, had an EMT check him over, and offered him whatever he needed. And all that had been before they'd gotten shawarma and after Tony himself had pretty much died and fell from space. Every mission after that, Tony always took the time to check on him. Sometimes he just popped by while the EMTs were working on Clint, other times he just provided a ride back to the tower and didn't seem to need to ask. The only weird thing this time was Tony's insistence on checking Clint over himself rather than recruit the closest EMT. 

"When did you learn to do this shit, anyway?" Clint grumbled as he helped Tony peel off his vest. His undershirt was plastered to his chest with sweat, and Tony tugged that up over Clint's head as well, apparently heedless of potential PR. Clint had learned to be very wary of being out in public where people actually knew he was Hawkeye. There were a lot of unflattering pictures of him on some of the trashier internet tabloid sites. 

"Got Bruce and Helen to teach me a few things," Tony said, not quite blase about it, but close. "Did an equivalent version of basic EMT training. Insomnia has its uses." He shrugged lightly, like it didn't matter, but Clint was floored. He'd known Tony didn't sleep well, but when the hell had he had the time to learn all that? 

"But - why?" Clint asked quietly as Tony took his right arm and began to extend it slowly, eyeing the way his joints moved and waiting for Clint to flinch in pain. He grimaced before Tony got his arm to shoulder-height. That was bad.

Tony eased his hands over Clint's shoulder and back, pressing in his fingers lightly to search for where the damage was. "Because the two of us are always getting busted up, and it seemed like some pretty good information to have if I ever have a need for it." He gave Clint a warm smile, warmer than Clint had expected. "We'll get Helen to take a look at your shoulder. Nothing to do for it out here. Come on, I've had Happy waiting for the last ten minutes." He jerked his head in the direction of a black Rolls Royce idling by the curb. 

"Thanks, Tony," Clint said softly. Tony helped him stand and stayed close while Clint limped his way to the car. They both slid into the back seat. 

Traffic was badly backed up and there was damage to the roads and some of the buildings, so they had a while before they made it to the tower. Clint felt only a little bit guilty. Tony could have been back in a few short minutes in his suit, but then Clint wouldn't have such a nice ride or all the snacks and bottles of water Tony kept pushing at him as soon as he'd emptied whatever was in his hand. 

Clint wasn't aware that he'd fallen asleep on Tony's shoulder until they reached the tower almost two hours later.


	5. Back scratching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton Bingo fill  
> Square O5 - back scratching   
> (Drabble)

Clint felt a hand on his back. Then nails rubbing across his tee shirt. He groaned, not caring how obscene he might have sounded. Natasha almost never agreed to scratch his back for him. Probably because he liked it a little too much. He didn't know why she was doing it now, but it felt like heaven. He hummed and stretched, pleasure building in his gut and chill bumps rising on his arms. He turned his head to the side to thank her and froze. It wasn't Natasha at all. He flushed, embarrassed, and hid his face. 

It was Tony.


	6. Budapest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton Bingo fill  
> Square O4 - Budapest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: oral sex, discussions of nightmares and injuries

"Nightmare?" 

Clint looked up and frowned a little. Tony had wandered into the common area, despite the giant tv and very comfortable couch in his penthouse suite. It was just after three in the morning. Clint was watching the nature documentary with the really soothing narration in hopes that it would help him relax enough to get back to sleep. It hadn't helped him sleep, but it had relaxed him enough to think there might be a chance of sleep somewhere in his future, unlike the massive anxiety attack he'd suffered when he'd woken.

He nodded to answer Tony's question. Tony sat near his head on the couch, and Clint scooted across the cushions to put his head on Tony's thigh. He needed the contact, and Tony hadn't seemed to mind any of the other times Clint had accidentally fallen asleep on him. Tony immediately put his hand in Clint's hair and scratched gently along his scalp. Clint felt himself go boneless as he tilted his face into Tony's stomach. 

"Wanna talk about it?" Tony asked. "The therapists always say it's supposed to help."

Clint could hear the shrug in Tony's voice. He rolled to the side just enough to look up at Tony. "It was Budapest," he told him. The words came out less disgruntled than Clint had expected. 

"Oh?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Clint sighed dramatically and rolled to his back, staring up at the ceiling. "It's just… I don't usually get nightmares about assignments, you know? I've done so much for SHIELD that if I had nightmares over everything, I'd never get a decent night's sleep. But there's something about Budapest that I just can't… get rid of, I guess." He shrugged his uninjured shoulder. 

"That was right after you turned Nat, wasn't it?" Tony asked. Clint was honestly surprised Tony knew even that much. 

"Yeah. She'd been sanctioned for missions just a few weeks before. We'd done a couple milk runs together. Nothing flashy. And then Budapest." Clint sneered. "I don't - I don't wanna get into everything. But we both should have died, really died, more than a couple times. I thought Nat was going to die before we made it out. She'd been shot in the leg. Missed her femoral artery, I guess, but how she managed to keep walking and help me stay upright, I'll never know."

"Well, she's enhanced," Tony remarked. "That has to be it, right?" 

"I didn't know that at the time," Clint sighed. "I was just afraid she was going to die before I could lead us to a safe house. She didn't know where they all were at that point, hadn't had much time to make her own. She had a couple from her solo days, but none in Hungary. That's one of the worst parts of it, the part I usually have nightmares about. Us dragging ourselves and each other toward a safe house and just… not making it. Or she dies before Phil gets to us. Or she decides I'm dead weight and leaves me there. Or kills me herself." 

Tony was quiet for a long moment. "I can't say she wouldn't do that, because Natasha absolutely would put a bullet in any one of our brains if she thought it was necessary, but I can say she wouldn't have done it without good reason. And she's basically Captain America Lite as far as serums go. She can live through nearly anything." 

Tony was right. Natasha would kill him if she thought someone might get him and torture him. She'd do it to save him the pain. And to protect herself. She also had some major enhancements that had been her sole savior more times than Clint could count. 

"Tell that to the nightmare brain," Clint sighed, annoyed with himself for feeling pathetic and upset. 

"Mm," Tony said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. "I'm not sure the nightmare brain will really listen. But we can always go for plan B?" 

"What was plan A?" Clint asked. 

"Talking about it," Tony said, smirking. 

"And plan B is…?" Clint drug out the 'is' obnoxiously. 

"Distraction."

"What kind of distraction?"

"This kind." 

Clint blinked in surprise, stunned into near motionlessness when Tony bent over him and pressed their lips together. It was sideways and kind of too terrible to be considered a kiss. When Tony sat up, smirk gone and watching Clint attentively, Clint pushed himself upright. His shoulder screamed in protest, but he ignored it for a moment. For just long enough to kiss Tony back. Properly. 

Distractions were nice. Clint loved sex. He rarely got as much sex as he wanted. Certainly not as much as he'd had back when he'd been in the circus. SHIELD had made it difficult to get more than a one night stand every few months, if that, and now that he was an Avenger, he had to be even more careful. A lot of people may not have realized he was Hawkeye without the bow in hand and the uniform on, but some did. He would absolutely take Tony up on the opportunity for sex. Sex should have been plan A. 

"Sex should have been plan A," he mumbled against Tony's jaw as he smeared kisses across his goatee and over to Tony's neck. 

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Tony assured, one of his hands sliding up Clint's back under his tee shirt, the other clenching the fabric into his fist at Clint's shoulder. 

He nibbled at Tony's neck for only a few seconds. He wasn't in the mood for foreplay, honestly. Instead, he shoved Tony against the back of the couch and then slid down to the floor to rest between Tony's thighs. He tugged at Tony's pajama pants, and Tony obligingly lifted his hips. His hand went into Clint's hair and he tugged gently at his handful as Clint's tongue swirled around the head of his cock.

"Good boy," Tony murmured once Clint took the direction Tony was suggesting with his hand and swallowed down Tony's cock. He felt himself flush bright red at the praise and squirm as he palmed his own cock through his gym shorts. He hadn't worn any boxers, and the clingy fabric felt odd but pleasant against his erection. 

"You're perfect at that, sweetheart," Tony said quietly, tipping his head back in pleasure. Clint bobbed up and down, his tongue pressed to the underside of Tony's cock. "So good for me, aren't you?" 

Clint moved faster, sucked harder. He liked when Tony said those things. He wasn't going to think about it. He couldn't let himself. He closed his eyes and focused on pleasing Tony instead. He swallowed every inch of Tony's cock, groaning when Tony pulled harder at his hair. 

"I always get so distracted when you talk because I can't help but think about your mouth on my cock," Tony told him, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You look spectacular down there, honey. On your knees for me? God, part of me never wants to let you leave."

Clint whimpered softly, shoving his hand into his shorts and jacking himself roughly. It was too dry and his fingers were just this side of too tight. It was mostly uncomfortable. 

But Tony's words were getting to him.

"Mm, you like that idea, don't you?" Tony yanked on Clint's hair again, hard enough that it brought tears to his eyes. They fluttered shut in response, Clint moaning around Tony's cock. "Getting on your knees whenever I say, worshiping my cock. Looking so damn pretty for me and only me. Letting me use you how I see fit." 

Clint didn't know where any of that had come from. He considered himself fairly adventurous in bed, and he knew he had a healthy collection of kinks. But this was new. 

Tony smoothed his thumb around Clint's mouth where his lips were stretched wide around his cock. "Gorgeous." 

Clint whimpered and came. 

Tony wasn't far behind him, his hand cradling the back of Clint's head so that Clint wouldn't pull away. Clint swallowed him down, licking around Tony's cock until he hissed from oversensitivity. He tugged Clint back by his hair, then leaned down to kiss him. He smirked when he looked down to find Clint's spent cock in his hand over the waistband of his shorts. 

"Looks like you finished yourself off already. That's a shame." Tony kissed him again, more delicate this time. "Maybe next time, hm?" Clint nodded. Next time sounded amazing. "Come on. We'll get cleaned up and then you can come lay down with me." 

Clint didn't question him, just allowed Tony to pull him to his feet and guide him toward the elevator that would take them up to the penthouse.


	7. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint Barton Bingo fill  
> Square O1 - different  
> (Drabble)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied aftercare, implied discussion of continuing sexual relationship

Tony after sex was different from anyone else Clint had ever been with. He was gentle and attentive. He made sure Clint had a bottle of water to drink. He combed his fingers through Clint's hair. He made sure Clint hadn't done any additional damage to himself - though Clint wasn't sure what he could have done just from giving a quick blowjob on his knees. He curled up with Clint in his giant bed and whispered sweet things to him.

Tony told him he was perfect, said he had done _so well._ Tony asked him to stay. Permanently. Clint agreed.


End file.
